Ceasefire
by Insecticon
Summary: (Sequel to "Hostages" - I need more summary space!) The Decepticons on Earth finally surrender, but now Bots and Cons have to live confined together in NEST HQ while humanity decides their collective fate. Culture clash on all sides, especially when one species has more than two genders. Mixed universe set in Prime, everyone ever plus OCs, some pairings, multi-genre. T to be safe.
1. Touchdown

_**Insecticon presents**:_

* * *

**CEASEFIRE**

**A Transformers Prime: Invasion Story**

* * *

It was a brilliant, oppressively hot August afternoon the day the Nemesis touched down on the tarmac of Creech Airforce Base in Nevada. Thunderbirds and Predators had been scrambled to Nellis AFB just beyond to make room for the huge Cybertronian dreadnought that dwarfed anything humanity had ever put into the air.

Skywatch, military arm of the newly authorized UN-backed Earth Defense Force, was present and waiting as the Decepticon ship lowered itself onto the smooth, jet black asphalt. Crash suits - powered mobile armor frames the size of an average Cybertronian, retro-engineered from salvaged MECH and Decepticon technology, were lined up at the periphery of the tarmac, fusion cannons charged and waiting, just in case something should go wrong. This was supposed to be a ceasefire and a potential end to the alien conflict that had brought itself to Earth, but when one side called itself 'Decepti-Cons', it was still prudent leave trust secured in a safe location somewhere else.

Gusts of air from the Nemesis' engines blew torrents of wind in all directions, scattering dust and sand, bringing some relief to the human civilians and military personnel. The acrid stink of ozone from reactor exhaust left the dry air with a pungent taste of unfamiliar chemicals. Hazard teams in internally cooled suits waved geiger counters towards the ship, a thousand nervous feelers of the native ants circling the gigantic mechanical newcomers.

Agent William Fowler reached into the pocket of his gray suit jacket and wiped a trickle of sweat from his forehead, the source of perspiration stemming from more than just heat. Having been involved with the Autobot-Decepticon conflict almost since their arrival on Earth, he was all too aware of what this ceasefire could mean if went right - and if it went wrong. Handling peace negotiations on Earth, where nations and cultures nursed bitterness against each other for hundreds of years at a time, often ended in abortive efforts that spiraled into yet more war. Extend the hatred, savagery and ideological divide of a civil war into the millions of years, and the notion of two ancient enemies actually coming to terms with one another seemed like an impossible drug-induced hallucination.

Standing at his side was Captain Marissa Fairborne, head of Skywatch. Her military record was impressive, extending back to her illustrious parents, who had been involved in a specialized global anti-terrorism force operating out of the United States. Her father's leadership capabilities and cool-under-fire persona had been indelibly stamped into her genes, allowing her shoot to the rank of captain despite her relatively young age. She was inscrutable, cool blue eyes focused on the bow of the ship, a few strands of coppery red hair whipping around her face in the wind. She carried herself with all the decorum and discipline that her digital desert camo uniform insinuated she had.

_If anyone could get along with Ultra Magnus, it would be her,_ Fowler thought to himself, looking back to the Nemesis.

June and Jack Darby, Miko Nakadai and Rafael Esquivel were also present; they were now considered EDF attaches to the Autobots, the children as Autobot partners in specific. The notion of having humans working directly with the Autobots was one that the EDF high command had favored - ostensibly for the sake of human-Cybertronian relations, but more realistically, for the purposes of keeping the giant walking laser-toting robots in check through their obvious emotional bonds to the children. Suggestions towards partnering _all_ of the Autobots with a suitable (read: hand-picked and trained) human partner had been tossed around among the higher-ups in the UN, but the notion had been presently stalled by arguments among member nations, who all wanted one of _their_ people selected for partnering. Fowler was thankful that humanity hadn't gotten its act together yet in that regard. The last thing he felt either he or the Autobots needed to deal with were a bunch of government stooges all trying to foist their national agendas on the blessedly good-natured and upstanding Cybertronians among them. Especially after said Cybertronians had sacrificed any hope of their own homeworld's recovery to protect a backwater planet full of comparatively tiny, chaotic, self-destructive natives, some of whom were more interested in vivisectioning them than establishing good interplanetary relations.

The Nemesis touched down with a low, quaking rumble, landing gear pressing down into the asphalt, which, soft from the desert heat, cratered slightly under the massive weight of the ship. The blatting thrum of the ship's gravity manipulation field suddenly ceased, and the vessel seemed to sigh with the relief of a bird that had finally come to roost after a long migration. Hydraulic jacks and lift systems hissed and the engines whined as they powered down, the magenta glow of energy flowing in circuit-pattern _power lines_ down the exterior of the ship dimming faintly as it went inert. The Nemesis seemed to have the same basic biological structures as its Cybertronian crew, and a question as to exactly how similar they were had always floated in the back of Fowler's mind. He never seemed to have the opportunity to ask the Autobots about it, and the Decepticons had not been likely to be forthcoming with answers. Until, perhaps, now.

Optimus Prime and his ranking officers (Ultra Magnus, his second in command, Prowl, his tactical commander, and Jazz, his special operations commander) were silently waiting nearby, a short distance from Fowler, Fairborne, Mrs. Darby and the kids. The rest of the Autobots that had rejoined Team Prime - and their one Velocitronian representative - waited behind their leaders. Ironhide seemed particularly uneasy, hand on his weapon, restlessly stroking the barrel. Fowler could hear his engine revving above the neutral idling of the others. The old soldier seemed unwilling to believe that a ceasefire was possible, that this day would once more end in weaponfire and his stone-faced grunt of 'I told you so'; Fowler sympathized. He'd seen enough career officers, veterans of several wars, that never seemed to be able to let the war in their minds finally end. Old tensions were curdling the air into a thick miasma of bitter disbelief marbled with the sharp tang of an anticipated firefight. Fowler took a deep breath, praying that today, Ironhide's gut feelings would be wrong.

Jazz seemed to be just as anxious as Ironhide, but for entirely different reasons; the Decepticons had taken his spark-mate and children hostage. Giant transforming robot cars having wives and families had thrown off some of the soldiers assigned to Skywatch. Fowler was left to try to cobble together what little he knew about Cybertronian relationships and reproduction into an explanation for the green recruits that had been trained to see Cybertronians as dangerous, unfeeling robot Godzillas they might have to smash to pieces. The higher ups had threatened to kick him off the force for dangerously humanizing Cybertronians in the eyes of the Skywatch soldiers, but Prime had informed them he would not work with anyone other than Fowler. Unhappily, they had no choice but to let the paradigm shift happen, and several hundred human beings had sat through the clumsy explanations of spark bonding ("mystical robot soul-marriage"), generation ("magic glowy soul pregnancy") and the protoform process ("baby robots that grow up really fast but are still babies"). He wasn't even going to _try_ to get into the whole semi-third-gender situation with Carrier types. No, _that_ little mess he was going to hand off to Ratchet when the official debriefing on Cybertronian biology finally came due.

Fowler liked Jazz. Of all the Autobots that Fowler had come in contact with, Jazz was one of his favorites, right up there with Bulkhead in terms of "easy to get along with". The special operations soldier's affable, friendly nature and apparent fascination with Earth culture made him almost impossible for anyone to dislike. Fowler understood that Jazz's flexible, charming personality made him a perfect fit for his job, and under other circumstances, would have made him an incredibly dangerous con-man, but there was a stark, good-hearted _honesty _under all those layers of potential emotional deceit. It was for that reason that Fowler had allowed himself to be befriended by someone more slippery than a wet tadpole on a glass tabletop.

It was Jazz's mate that had triggered the scrapstorm of chaos aboard the Nemesis, which now, it would seem, was turning point of the Cybertronian civil war. The universe was funny like that; sometimes it was the actions of a single individual, intentional or not, that could end up changing entire civilizations. From what Fowler had understood, the whole lot of them - "Transformers" as they had been nicknamed - had collectively put on their chastity belts and swore off having children until the war was over. Their planet had started the notion by ceasing to produce new Cybertronians when the war began. It was the equivalent of God rendering the human race sterile until world peace had been achieved - or every combatant was dead. Had that actually happened on Earth, it would have been a sure bet that peace accords would have been signed in record time. Cybertronians, however, seemed to be just as doggedly thick-headed and stubborn as any human being.

Shiftlock - Jazz's mate - had spontaneously had babies. Or rather, she'd gotten _sparked_ ("mystical robot knocking up") before the war had begun, and had discovered that her body had the unique ability to put the pregnancy on pause - just not indefinitely. Eventually nature took its course, and she needed protoforms ("magic robot baby dolls that the little glowy soul thing goes into") for the kids, which meant the Autobots had to steal them from the Decepticons, and in the process, get captured. Shiftlock had done what any good soldier would do, and gave up her freedom to save her friends, her mate, and protect her children. Autobots had the whole "noble sacrifice" thing down to a fine art.

For Megatron it had seemed like a slam dunk - hostages to keep the Autobots at bay for as long as he wanted, innocent new recruits for the ranks, turning the thumbscrews on the Autobots making them fight against their own children. It was sadistically brilliant, and Fowler would have believed it would have given the Decepticons an upper hand in both numbers and morale. Primus - their creator deity - seemed to have had other plans in mind.

Once Shiftlock had gotten on board the Nemesis, she somehow caused the Decepticon's collective biological clocks (did robots even have those?) to go off at once. Ratchet had said something about Cybertronians having electro magnetic fields which acted as an autonomic layer of communication beyond the five senses humanity used and proceeded to tell him about how that wave-field was related to understanding Bumblebee's random beeps as language, but it had gotten technical quickly and gone over Fowler's head. He mentally wrote "robot telepathy" over the discussion and left it at that. Nevertheless, that EMF of Shiftlock's had caused havoc among the Decepticon officers, and apparently resulted in some of the Cons getting families of their own. After millions of years of fighting just for their own personal interests, suddenly the tired notion of "children are our future" sounded like an alarm over their collective heads, making them stop and really consider whether or not a Pyrrhic victory was any kind of victory at all. Add to this the Vehicons being handed a copy of Megatron's original "little red book" on individualism and control of one's own destiny, and the resulting mutiny combined to bring about the situation playing out in front of Fowler right now.

"The ship's cargo hatch is opening," Captain Fairborne said into her communicator. "I want weapons locked and loaded. Be ready for anything."


	2. Megatron's Decision

*.*.*.*.*

**Chapter 2**

*.*.*.*.*

The first thing off the Nemesis was Megatron.

The sound of several thousand fusion cannons powering up hummed through the air, humanity's immunological response to the deadly silver biomechanical virus that entered its collective societal body. The Decepticon leader expressed a modicum of surprise from the lift of a single, thick optical ridge; the crash suits were a new thing to him. He hadn't expected the native life to adapt and react to Cybertronian invasion so quickly.

Then again, MECH had made incredible strides in just a few short months, and even one of the Autobot's human pets had managed to kill one of his finest Insecticon warriors, steal the Apex armor and thrash his second in command. He decided to keep it in mind that these organic spawn of Unicron were more of a threat than he had initially anticipated - now, more so than ever, as he prepared to surrender himself to Prime's tender mercies - and potentially theirs as well.

The natives had good reason to treat him like a caged predacon. He'd threatened their major polities, assaulted their military forces, jeopardized the survival of their species, and had entertained the notion of enslavement with the possibility of promotion to genocide. If CYLAS was any indicator of their normality, his surrender was the equivalent of having turned himself over to the Institute's tender mercies when he was still a rabble-rousing gladiator of the pits.

Airachnid came down the loading plank of the Nemesis immediately after Megatron, shielding her violet, hexagonally latticed optics from the brilliant mid afternoon sun until her sensors recalibrated themselves to the brightness that contrasted the dark interior of the ship. She had remained in close proximity to Megatron since their recent (and accidental) spark-bonding, for reasons obvious to any Cybertronian. Being physically separated until the bond was fully integrated and normalized in their sparks was anxiety inducing at best and agonizing at worst. Her mere presence was comforting to Megatron, something he was completely unaccustomed to, but not displeased by. His hand automatically went to her shoulder, pulling her closer to him, protectively. Surely the local savages would pick up the hint that any attack on her would result in him transforming this military installation into a field freshly plowed by his fusion cannon and richly planted with their soft, blood-filled corpses.

"Are you sure that's not some kind of drone or duplicate?" Fairborne asked Fowler in a quiet aside, staring up at Megatron as if her eyeballs were tactical sensors scanning for weak points.

"What makes you think that's a fake?" Fowler asked in return, puzzled by Captain Fairborne's apparent paranoia.

"The eyes on that thing don't match the visuals given to us," Fairborne pointed out. "This tin man's got blue eyes like your Autobot Prime. The images we got had the Decepticon leader with red ones."

Fowler squinted as he looked up, Megatron's polished steel body reflecting light painfully back at him from certain angles, but sure enough, the Captain was right. Megatron's eyes were as baby blue as Prime's. "Well chop down my cherry tree and call me George Washington," he muttered in surprised agreement. "He _does_ have blue eyes. I wonder what that means?"

"Maybe he's a good guy again?" Raf interjected helpfully. "I mean, that's how it works in the cartoons. When someone's eyes change colors, it's usually because something about them's changed."

"This isn't a cartoon!" Miko retorted irritably at Rafael. "This is real life with real alien robots!"

"Well, they did turn purple when he took dark energon," Jack recalled. "Maybe there's something to the change in the color of his eyes after all."

"Is it just me, or does he seem very ... _comfortable_ with the creepy spider one?" June asked, shivering reflexively in the presence of Airachnid. The spider had introduced June the hard way to the "real life with real alien robots", starring her son.

Jack took notice. "Yeah, that's... different. Very different."

"You think they're dating?" Miko asked, taking out her cellphone and snapping off a picture of the two Decepticons.

"I don't even want to think of them like that," Jack grimaced.

"Well, the report we got from Shiftlock said that some of the Decepticons had formed family units," Fowler added to the conversation, looking over at June and the kids. "I suppose it's possible that fang-face over there is a leg man."

June groaned into a facepalm, shaking her head. The kids made faces.

"Did you really just make that joke?" Fairborne flatly asked.

"What joke?" Fowler questioned, confused at the reactions he was getting from such an earnest observation. "Maybe on their home planet all those legs are attractive."

"Stay focused," Fairborne sighed, looking back to the Decepticon commander and his smaller female associate.

Optimus Prime stepped forward, closing the distance between Megatron and himself as the tension in the air rose exponentially between them. His gaze dropped down to the female close to the Decepticon commander's side; she returned his questioning stare with head held high, EMF stiff with implacable resolve. The humans present could not detect it, but the way Megatron and Airachnid's fields blended and enmeshed one another rather than pressing together like two impermeable bubbles competing for the same space confirmed to him that the rumors were indeed true. As he raised his optics back up to Megatron's, he considered that the newly forged bond between the two might be the reason he was looking once more into the blue optics of one who had once been his mentor, brother, and friend.

"Megatron," Prime greeted, acknowledging the Decepticon commander in neutral tone that resonated with authority.

"Prime," Megatron replied, firm but cautiously reserved.

At this proximity the electromagnetic fields of both mechs, extended well past the bodily boundaries of an average Cybertronian due to the raw, commanding, charismatic power both possessed, clashed against one another. Like an extrasensory handshake, the two exchanged information, emotion and intent at the speed of thought, Optimus emanating caution, necessity of authority, and a hope of friendship once more.

It was always that hope of friendship that had angered Megatron in the past, that in the face of vorns of evidence to the contrary, Prime had never once given up hope that his old friend might come back to him some day. EMF could be sometimes be faked like a forced grin or a lying smile, but Prime had carried that same flickering ember of hope for so long it was beyond a falsified field or even a cruel, mocking, ongoing joke. It had always been genuine, and that had driven Megatron into a murderous frenzy in each battle. It wasn't enough to just defeat Prime - he had to pulverize him, tear him to pieces - he had to force Prime to _hate him back_. His spark could never know peace until at last that fragile hope of reconciliation had been strangled gunmetal gray like a defective sparkling that refused to naturally offline, snuffed out of Prime's field and out of his eternally mourning eyes.

Megatron knew all too well - feared all too much - that giving up and reciprocating their friendship once more would be the easiest thing in two worlds to do. He also knew that once that door had been opened, the weight of his guilt would crush him with the force of a black hole.

He could feel Airachnid's concern for him emanating from the center of his spark, sensing his inner turmoil; he caught the arrhythmic warble of his EMF stemming from conflicted emotion and quickly straightened it by withdrawing from contact with Optimus Prime. He had a decision to make, with all the history-making consequences that would evolve from it, and he wanted a moment of inner solitude from his adversary to think it through.

_Fine_, Megatron thought to himself. _You wish to step up to shoulder the full burden of being Prime, not just over Autobots, but over all Cybertronians? Very well, old friend. Let us see if you carry the weight I have borne alone on my back struts since the_ _beginning. Let us see if you can deal with the monsters birthed from the Decepticon ideal. If you want to save your brother, you will have to pay the price for all of his sins._

"Does your offer of asylum still stand?" Megatron asked simply.

"It does," Prime answered with a slight nod of his head.

"And do your human allies intend to abide by that offer as well?" the silver mech asked, looking past Optimus to the hundreds of internally-lit, fully charged crash suit weapon barrels trained on him.

"I cannot guarantee that every human government would agree to uphold the terms I am offering you," Prime said honestly. "But the nation we now occupy has agreed to overlook past Decepticon actions in return for remaining unknown to the general human populace, and cessation of further hostilities."

It was as Megatron thought. Prime had allowed his servos to be bound by the savages. He was no doubt hoping for the best from the humans, while ignoring the reality of what was presently surrounding him.

_We may have to save each other_, he thought. _Nothing that crawled out of the flotsam encrusting Unicron can be fully trusted._

"As you have so _recently_ reminded my crew, I am a champion of individuality and self-determination," Megatron quipped with hint of venomous sarcasm, "so I will not decide for each Decepticon aboard my ship. If any of them choose to refuse your offer, however, they will be doing it on their own."

"And as for yourself?" Prime asked, pressing for a definite decision from Megatron.

"I will accept your terms, Optimus Prime, even if you do not yet fully understand the ramifications of your offer," the silver gladiator replied, unhurried.

"If you're taking him up on his offer, so am I," Airachnid said immediately after, looking up at Megatron. "Where you go, I go."

He smiled back down at her. "I would not wish it any other way."

The exchange between the newly bonded brought a smile to Prime's normally stoic face as well. He extended a hand to Megatron. "It's been a long time, old friend."

The gladiator turned revolutionary clasped the extended servo in his own, allowing himself to rekindle hope of reconciliation long dead. "It has been, hasn't it, Pax? It truly has been."


	3. Special Needs

*.*.*.*.*

**Chapter 3**

*.*.*.*.*

"Okay you're going to have to run that by me one more time," Fairborne said, straining to wrap her mind around the excuse that had just passed the Autobot medic's lips.

Ratchet grunted disdainfully, his voice taking on a patronizing tone as he attempted to dumb it down for the human female in front of him. Why couldn't he deal with some of the more _intelligent_ members of their species in this matter? Even Rafael could have grasped it by now, and he was a mere sparkling among their kind.

"Your species' gender is based around the physiological differences between your two body types as they pertain to reproduction, correct?" Ratchet asked in slight exasperation.

"Right," Fairborne agreed brusquely, already disliking the xenobigotry that had been creeping up in the Autobot's tone since the conversation began.

"Using that standard, Cybertronians have _thirteen_ genders, but it does not require the combined efforts of all thirteen to produce sparklings - what we call our young. Going by your standards of "race", we would also possess unique racial differences in each gender through frame type," Ratchet explained.

"So because your species' reproductive process is as convoluted as a Rubik's cube, we have to house three of the most dangerous members of the Decepticons in the same quarters," Fairborne gruffly retorted.

"_No_," Ratchet tersely answered, vents lifting slightly to ease the heat of his growing irritation. "We have to house them together because they are _spark-bonded_, and separating them would be physical and mental _torture_."

"So you're telling me if they don't get regular conjugal visits it constitutes _torture_ on the part of the EDF?" Fairborne stated, folding her arms and staring up at the red and white mech.

"Regular _what_?" Ratchet asked, expression contorting in an attempt to understand the nomenclature the captain was using.

"She means scheduled interfacing time," Jazz interjected as he leaned against the wall of the hangar.

The Decepticon surrender had completed itself hours ago, with every Decepticon on board their ship, the Nemesis, agreeing to abide by Optimus Prime's terms individually. Some had chosen to follow Megatron's decision out of loyalty (Shockwave and Soundwave); some had surrendered because they were sick of war and wanted to enjoy their new freedom (Vehicons); others had surrendered simply because they saw the other option - struggling against an entire planet alone without a home, support or resources - as an exercise in futility (Blackout, Knock Out and Barricade). Only Starscream had held out the longest against surrender, valiantly trying to rally the broken morale of the remaining Decepticon forces (Stunticons) to his side, but ultimately failing in this due to his lack of charisma, and nearly getting himself perforated by one hundred and fifty crash suit cannons waiting to fire on him if he persisted a moment longer.

Now the topic had moved on to exactly how they were going to house the Decepticon forces when any of them could be playing possum and simply buying time towards a surprise attack. This seemed to be expectations held by the higher ups of the EDF, Captain Faireborne in particular, and the sentiment was shared by some of the Autobots (particularly Ultra Magnus and Ironhide), who believed peace would only be truly possible when every Cybertronian wearing a purple Decepticon badge was offlined for keeps.

This resulted in the present (literally) round-table discussion happening in the modified, reinforced hangar-cum-command center of the EDF's new Cybertronian-accessible military facility, colloquially named 'NEST'. Agent William Fowler, representing the United States government to the EDF and Captain Marissa Fairborne, head of Skywatch were seated on one side of an enormous table, while Optimus Prime, Ultra Magnus and Prowl were "seated" on the other side (Some of the mechanics had taken the liberty of trying to weld together Cybertronian-sized furniture out of scraps of reinforced steel and decommissioned military vehicles, the sight of which had caused some Autobots to remark that they were having to sit on chairs made of skins and bones).

Optimus was thankful Jazz had spent so much time soaking up Earth culture; it had been his function before, after all - cultural investigation - and his services were going to be hotly in demand on this planet, particularly in peace time, when he would need to help Autobots relate with Decepticons, and Cybertronians relate with Humanity. Negotiations on all sides would be tricky, and he was beginning to feel that it would be a harder struggle to rebuild Cybertronian society than to protect a small portion of it from a militarily superior force.

Ratchet spluttered incomprehensibly at the translation of terminology that Jazz had helpfully supplied him. "Well I would think that even human mates would want to spend time regularly with each other in _that_ way but spark-bonding goes far beyond mere reproductive efforts!"

"Yes, yes, I know, "mystical robot soul-marriage"," was Fairborne's impatient rejoinder.

"Mystical ... robot ... " Ratchet trailed off. All Cybertronian optics went to Fowler, who seemed to sink into his seat as he looked the other way.

"Oh, hey!" he exclaimed, taking his cell phone out of his jacket pocket. "I'm sorry fellahs, this is an important call I have to take, would you excuse me just a minute?" he rose from his seat quickly and hurried out of the room through a human-sized doorway into the hall beyond.

"The hangar is electromagnetically shielded. You can't get a signal in here... " Fairborne trailed off, watching him leave.

"I'm sure Agent Fowler did the best he could to explain the situation with what he knew," Optimus calmly stated, attempting to smooth ruffled feathers and return the discussion to order. "But it is apparent we will need to supply a more detailed dossier on Cybertronian physiological and psychological needs."

"_Very _apparent_,_" Ratchet muttered, eyeing the doorway Fowler'd just ducked out of.

"Spark-bonds are a mental and physical connection," Jazz said to Fairborne as he moved away from the wall. "The bonds the Decepticons have are brand new, so they're more sensitive to distance. It's kinda like building muscle or healing a wound; things are pretty tender at first, but as the muscle gets stronger, or the wound heals, it can handle separation with greater and greater ease. Bein' apart at this stage of bonding is like havin' a kick to the crotch, hangover and anxiety attack all rolled into one. In fact, separating newly bonded Cybertronians was a favorite form of war-time torture for the Decepticons. Sometimes they'd kill one mate and watch the others go insane and try to kill themselves right after."

Fairborne muttered a profanity under her breath. "And you think these guys are just going to suddenly decide to play nice for the rest of their lives?" she asked Prime.

"Megatron has never before felt the pull of a spark-bond himself. I have reason to believe that his new bonds to Airachnid and intended bonding to Soundwave will grant him a perspective he sorely needs," Optimus explained.

"Wait, isn't Soundwave a guy?" Fairborne asked, puzzled.

"_Thirteen genders_," Ratchet reminded Fairborne. "And not all of them necessarily fit together in the same way humanity does through male and female. Soundwave is what you'd call a _male_, loosely, but more appropriately he is a **carrier**. Mech-Femme-Carrier trines are one common, natural way Cybertronians can generate offspring as _protoform batch initiators._ These sort of trine groupings are particularly prevalent in flying frame-types, which Megatron, Airachnid and Soundwave all are." He began to ramble a bit and added further information. "Minicons tend to reproduce a bit more like humanity does in Male-Female sparkbonds, while Insecticons are self-generative, though they exist as a super organism hive-mind spread across several hundred to thousand individuals with their central consciousness in a single individual known as a Hive Master, who lays the eggs that hatch into hive drones. That doesn't even _begin_ to cover Combiners, Predacons or Shifters."

"Megatron intends to form a trine with Soundwave and Airachnid?" Ultra Magnus asked, sounding somewhat shocked.

"You didn't think all that special deference Megatron always showed Soundwave was just because he was a loyal soldier, did you?" Jazz asked with a smirk.

Ultra Magnus just looked sourly (and disgustedly) at Jazz.

Jazz leaned over to Captain Fairborne and whispered out of the side of his mouth, "We're still not entirely sure what gender Ultra Magnus is, seein' as how he has all the libido of a piece of drywall."

Fairborne choked down the explosive bubble of laughter that tried to rise out of her chest, succeeding only in biting her bottom lip and snerking, particularly at the tight, disapproving glare Ultra Magnus gave Jazz in response to his _oh-so-helpful_ cultural debriefing.

"Nevertheless, it would be prudent according to the terms of asylum and our intentions to show good will towards the Decepticons that are surrendering peacefully that we will not cause them undo distress," Prowl calmly said, speaking up. "Allowing them to carry on somewhat normal civilian lives will encourage other Decepticons still roaming the spaceways to consider a ceasefire as well. I believe we're going to need the help of their more rational members, especially Megatron, to deal with Decepticons who will not allow the war to stop in any way, such as as the Decepticon Justice Division, or any remaining members of Phase Six."

"There is also the matter of the Star Seekers," Optimus Prime added. "Roulette informed us that they are still in search of Cybertronians, and they are not likely to accept humanity's general ignorance of our existence here as a reason not to attack."

"Lovely," Fairborne scowled. She sighed and leaned back in her seat. "For the time being, then, the Earth Defense Force has no choice but to restrict all Cybertronian movement and activity to NEST headquarters. Autobot, Decepticon, Neutral - I don't care what badge you're wearing, you are _not to leave this base_ under penalty of death, until the UN and EDF have figured out how and where Earth is going to house alien refugees. Or defend itself from the other aggressive forces out there who are apparently sniffing after you and don't give a damn if they kill humanity in the process." She sighed heavily and took a drink from the cup of water to the side of the manila folders on the table in front of her. "Lord knows we can't get our crap together enough to handle our _own_ refugees, let alone ones that average twenty to thirty feet tall, change into vehicles and subsist on a fuel we can't even determine the chemical composition of."

"Confined to base?!" Ratchet protested. "How are we supposed to get energon?!"

"The UN kept tabs on all the mysterious explosions of unknown energy sources in various places around the world. The guy you call Wheeljack seemed to like blowing them up pretty regularly. It isn't hard to keep tabs on mining operations run by driverless vehicles in places that no one has permits for mineral rights. Trust me, the "robots in disguise" thing didn't last long when the planet you're trying to hide on has global satellite surveillance and one side doesn't give a flying frack about the "disguise" part," Fairborne countered. "We've secured the locations of several energon mines and we're extracting the ore ourselves. You'll have all the rations you need."

Captain Fairborne stood from the table, picking up her folders. "I suggest for the time being you all learn to play nice with each other again until we get things sorted out. Meeting adjourned. You are _dismissed_."


	4. The Best Day Ever

*.*.*.*.*

**Chapter 4**

*.*.*.*.*

For the Vehicons (and their flying Seeker counterparts), the first day of their surrender had been the best "motherfragging day of their motherfragging lives" (one of the Seekers had just finished watching Snakes on a Plane and decided this was the most appropriate way to describe their collective experience).

The orders of being restricted to base by the tiny carbon-based organic military units that they now had to be careful not to step on was actually taken with aplomb; for the Vehicons it was just one big excuse to have their first paid vacation since the war began. When asked what they needed to help pass the time until things got more settled, the requisitions officers found themselves with lists that looked like they'd been put together by a group of slacker college students trapped in their dorms over the weekend: televisions, music albums, video games, access to the "human datanet" and an enormous supply of paint and car-care products. Thusly, several dozen highly amused Skywatch soldiers were sent out with semi trucks to nearby Las Vegas to clean out half a dozen electronics, video game and automotive supply stores.

The initial tenseness between human and Vehicon military units had melted away with surprising (and to the higher ups in the EDF, disturbing) rapidity; to the Vehicons the human soldiers were simply "disposable castes" like themselves, and without the Decepticon officers barking orders at them to enslave the natives, they generally had no natural inclination to do so. The real ice breaker came when the Vehicons started conversing with the humans through their own culture; during the long shifts and down time aboard the Nemesis when they weren't being slagged by Autobots or their own elites, the Vehicons had passed the time by diving into Earth culture through their communication media, usually over whatever nation they happened to be passing over at the time. As the EDF military was made up of soldiers from most nations over the planet, this resulted in a sort of pairing-off of certain Vehicons with certain human ethnic groups whose broadcasts and cultures they had liked the most. This was further helped by the rapidity by which Cybertronians learned alien language structures; Russian soldiers could talk to Russian-speaking Vehicons, Chinese to Chinese, Venezuelan to Venezuelan, and so forth. Those soldiers who had not come from the United States in which the EDF facility had been erected were finding themselves enjoying the comforts of refuge in their own culture ... coming from giant alien transforming robots. It was a bit of a mind-screw.

Of course the cultural blending didn't go off entirely smoothly; the human soldiers didn't have a clue about Cybertronian taboos (no, you cannot ask to see our spark chambers, that is like asking if you can see and examine a random stranger's genitals) and Fowler's explanation on Cybertronian physiology and relationships was a bit lacking (look, I'm a mech and he's a carrier, that doesn't make us what you call "gay"), but the Vehicons took it in stride and tried their best not to be offended. Things didn't go perfectly on the other side of the fence either, particularly when the Vehicons learned that the human nation of India had a caste system of their own, causing them to try to translate Megatron's political writings into Hindi, Punjabi and Tamil as quickly as possible and attempt to convert the Indian soldiers to "Decepticonism" with the fervor of religious evangelists. The higher ups advised the Indian soldiers to simply nod their heads and play along rather than be offended, but the major points of Megatron's impassioned writings did have a couple of the Indian EDF becoming the first human Decepticons on Earth, and their overjoyed fellow Vehicon revolutionaries showed them how to create Decepticon badges and properly affix them to their uniforms.

And then there was religion.

While the Decepticon army had in general looked down their collective faceplates at Cybertronians with religious beliefs (Megatron held nothing sacred), that did not prevent their members from maintaining religious beliefs privately. The revelation that Earth was in fact the dust-gathering physical body of the Lord of Chaos himself caused some ideological upheavals among the religious humans stationed at NEST, shattering long-held beliefs about life and the universe, though by the time most of them had learned that there was life outside Earth, their belief systems had been challenged already. Most of the religious humans accepted Primus and Unicron (and to some extent the Thirteen) as just alternate names and forms for their own gods and deities, though a handful of human atheists and agnostics started asking how to pray to Primus since he provably existed (The Vehicons had discouraged them from praying to Unicron, despite his physical presence under his feet and the possibility that he was the reason their species came to exist). This would later have other ramifications, however, when it was understood that Optimus Prime was carrying a part of Primus' spark in the Matrix inside of him, thus earning him several new titles (such as Space Pope, Mecha Buddha and Robot Jesus) that, at the very least, were not used within earshot of him.

Names came next, because Dave and Skippy had started the whole thing when Shiftlock insisted that everyone should have a name. This, again, broke down to regional preference, but the choices were far more varied. Cybertronians seemed to have this thing about not sharing a name with anyone else, and most of the good names were already taken. Personalities and individuality were blooming like dandelions after a spring thunderstorm; some of the names were very dignified and classy, such as Leon, Alexandria, Li Po, Bomani; others reflected power (or a wish for power): Leonidas, Superman, Chuck Norris, Vegeta and Nobunaga; and some were ... well, it was like letting a five-year-old pick his own name. Case in point: Bjork, Frankenstein, Pop-Pop, Fun Wagon, Crackerjack, Daisy Duke, and "Beep".

An actual fight had broken out between two ground-type car Vehicons who both wanted to name themselves "Bender Bending Rodriguez", but after some convincing from the humans surrounding them, they accepted that on Earth, it was appropriate for two individuals to share the same name. After all, there were seven billion humans on the planet, and there just weren't enough names to go around. It was a major breakthrough in cultural assimilation and peacetime negotiations between two species.

Lastly came the customized paintjobs. Everyone was a little tired of looking like carbon copies of each other. When one of the EDF soldiers revealed he had spent part of his youth tagging graffiti on walls across Los Angeles, he was instantly employed as the world's first Cybertronian tattoo artist, and anyone with experience detailing, customizing or tricking out cars had Vehicons begging them for the equivalent of makeovers.

By the time the beer was being passed around and the multiplayer gaming parties had started, there were multicolored Seekers lining up to do the Invisible Horse with some femme two-wheeler Vehicons in a perfect Gangnam Style parody that had South Korean, Japanese, English and American troops roaring with laughter and trying to join in.

Optimus Prime hadn't had such a gratifying day in a very long time. Watching the human and Cybertronians carrying on like old friends at Maccadam's lifted his spirits like little else since the Matrix had been granted to him. It gave him evidence that his hopes and dreams were not in vain, and gave him newfound strength he knew he would need to be able to carry out the long and thorny task of integration and reconciliation.

Especially since the extreme amount of goofing off and lack of protocol was making Ultra Magnus, who was standing next to him, grind his dental plates. Audibly.

Yet it was Megatron who was the most surprised; the Vehicons were showering him with praise - real, genuine, not-required-to-stay-in-one-piece _praise_. Surrender had instantly elevated him to the status of a wise and all-powerful Prime in their optics, because he had finally delivered on the promises he had made in his writings so many vorns ago.

They were **free**.

Had it really been so simple? Had the mantle of true leadership that Primus had bestowed on the humble librarian been made of such simple stuff that Megatron had overlooked it all this time? The tighter the gladiator had squeezed his followers for control, the more their crushed and bloody ranks had slipped through his digits, and increasingly strenuous effort was required to maintain that desperate grasp. By the simple act of letting all of them go, they were willing to move mountains for him out of gratitude and respect alone.

He had once been the teacher. It was appropriately, satisfyingly galling to him that he would have to sit at Prime's feet as the student.


	5. And Roomie Makes Three

*.*.*.*.*

**Chapter 5**

*.*.*.*.*

"What do you mean I have to share quarters with HIM?"

"This facility is not equipped yet to give every one of us individual quarters," Ultra Magnus replied coolly to Starscream. "As such, we are all having to make sacrifices."

"But this is WHIRL we're talking about!" Starscream protested.

"He has agreed not to cause you any harm, so long as you continue to cooperate," the Autobot Second-in-Command stated. "Besides, you will not be left alone with him." He looked past Starscream into the hangar, where Whirl waved a giant clawed limb at him. "... _No one_ is going to be left alone with him," he added in a quieter tone.

"Be that as it may," Starscream continued, wings dropping down past his pauldrons, "Surely we can do better than this - this **hovel**. It's barely more than a _tent_. It doesn't even have a _berth_ for Pit's sake!"

"You are a soldier are you not?" Ultra Magnus asked, unimpressed with the Seeker's emotional diatribe.

"You very well know that I am! I was the Air Commander of Vos!" Starscream spat, shaking a fist.

"Then you should be able to endure hardships for a time. Recharge in your alt-mode. The facility is equipped to handle aircraft," Ultra Magnus casually rebuffed.

"Why can't we just sleep aboard the Nemesis?!" Starscream protested, hands balled into fists at his sides, voice rising in pitch in desperate frustration. ANYTHING was better than sharing quarters with that insane rotorframe.

"The Nemesis is off limits to Decepticons until they can be trusted not to simply steal it or scuttle it," Ultra Magnus said, remaining implacable.

"Your reputation precedes you in this case," Arcee added, folding her arms. "You're not exactly the most trustworthy person we know of."

"Yes," the seeker muttered lowly, rubbing the back of his neck and eyeing the Autobot femme. "I suppose it _does_." Foiled again.

Venting with the forlorn upward gaze of a Renaissance-era martyred saint, Starscream emotionally squirmed, attempting to manipulate the Autobots into pitying him. Begging, fawning and boot-licking had kept him from Megatron's wrath for vorns, and it had worked on the Autobots once or twice. Maybe he could still get some kind of edge on them... Or at least a reprieve from his chosen room-mate. "I suppose making sacrifices for the benefit of peace _is_ the best way to go. We Decepticons have **much** to do in terms of reparations. What's sleeping in one's alt-mode compared to all the pain and suffering I've caused?"

Back of his hand pressed to his forehead, he glanced over at Ultra Magnus and Arcee to see if they were buying any of this.

They weren't.

"Excellent attitude, Starscream," Ultra Magnus replied, unaffected by the dramatics. "As there is some genuine concern that Whirl might do you harm in one of his ... _episodes_, I am assigning Arcee to this set of quarters as well."

"_What_," Arcee sputtered, staring up at Ultra Magnus, plates raised.

"Both Optimus Prime and Megatron agreed that it would be best to house you with Starscream and Whirl as you have the combat skills and leadership skills to keep both of them from doing each other serious damage. Further more, Optimus believes that spending time with Starscream in a non-combat setting will allow the two of you to come to terms with your shared history and put it behind you. Prime thinks very highly of your courage, forthrightness and self-control, Arcee. It is an honor he rarely invests in others."

"Lucky me," Arcee grumbled.

This secretly delighted Starscream. He may have to put up with Whirl, but the two-wheeler would have to put up with _him_.

Okay, maybe it wasn't so secret; Starscream hadn't yet learned how to keep a poker face when it wasn't absolutely vital to his survival, and his sudden bemused leering at Arcee broadcast his inner intentions like a marquee scrolling his every thought across his forehead in ten foot neon block letters.

"Don't get any ideas," Arcee hissed menacingly. "I've accepted that Cliffjumper is gone, but don't think I will _ever_ forget what you've done."

Starscream caught himself leering and snapped out of it, his eyes narrowing. "We only have to _sleep_ here. We don't have to _like_ each other," he spat coldly.

"Good!" Arcee barked.

"It's settled then!" Starscream snapped back.

"Definitely!" Arcee retorted, getting louder.

"PERFECT!" Starscream shouted back.

A pair of thin, circular pincers grabbed hold of either side of Starscream's cheeks, hooking into the edge of his mouth and suddenly pulled his scowl into a smile. "Awww, come on roomies! Turn that frown upside down!" Whirl said from behind Starscream, his voice carrying all the chipper enthusiasm of an excitable pink cartoon pony.

Starscream shrieked, eyes wide, whole body stiffening lest those sharp points do damage to his facial mesh.

Whirl pulled Starscream's smile up a little further and manipulated the seeker's lips. "Wanna know how I got these scars?" he muttered in his best impression of the Joker.

Arcee vented and shook her head, anger melting away. "Whirl, let him go, he's not worth it."

Whirl let Starscream go and the Seeker lunged out of the way, turning around and rubbing his cheeks, attempting to soothe wounded pride at the same time. "Oh, all right," the rotorcraft relented. "I was just trying to break the ice, since we're gonna be bunking together." He leaned over and whispered to Arcee, "Don't get any ideas about coming on to me, I'm saving myself for bonding."

Arcee ground her dental plates as her anger returned with a vengeance. She quietly seethed.

"Excellent. Everything seems to be in order. I'll leave you all to get further acquainted," Ultra Magnus acknowledged, sounding pleased, as he turned away to check in on the other room assignments.

...

"Jazz, we need a third."

And so it began like clockwork, since their relationship had started. He could time it by the calendar.

He couldn't exactly argue with Shiftlock on that part. Without a Carrier in the bond, it had always felt like something was missing from the relationship, but the war had pushed a completed trine to the back of both of their processes. Heck, having a family hadn't even been on their planner until Shiftlock's surprise delivery a short time ago.

Not that he didn't like finally having a family. His sparklings had initially been confused and even a little afraid of him thanks to Megatron, but all it took was getting close enough for their EMF to make contact, and they instantly recognized him as their real father and the bonding process between parents and offspring had completed itself. He only wished he knew who the protoforms they had used came from, particularly since his son had wings and wheels at the same time - they'd discovered the boy was a triple changer - and not knowing full parentage would leave something of a gap in the sparklings' upbringings, not to mention their medical futures. It was like an infertile couple conceiving through sperm donation, but never being told who it was that did the donating. That kind of thing didn't go over well on Earth OR Cybertron.

Still, it was an emergency situation and he silently thanked the carrier that had provided those protoforms. It allowed his children to be born and his femme to be saved from death by generation failure. He couldn't argue with success.

"You got anyone in mind?" he asked his mate.

In the past Jazz had suggested they bond with Blaster - this was utterly unsurprising to Shiftlock seeing as how the mech and carrier had a ridiculous amount of things in common. Shiftlock so far hadn't risen to the bait, uneasy about being bonded to an Iaconian newscaster (the Decepticons had strongly contributed to her dislike of the media), and balking at the idea of bonding to a carrier that had such a huge amount (read: six) of Deployer tagalongs with him. For this reason Jazz had kept his relationship with Blaster light and loose.

The option to try again had only recently come up again, Blaster having turned up among Team Prowl's Ark II crew in Canada.

"This is going to sound crazy, but I'm actually considering talking to Barricade," Shiftlock admitted with caution.

Jazz rebooted after a segfault, staring blanking at his mate.

"You do sound crazy. You _do_ remember that he was trying to kill us, right?" Jazz asked.

"I know, I know," Shiftlock vented apologetically. "But do recall that I was in a relationship with him. He wasn't the best carrier to be around to put it lightly but... the war's over. He's imprisoned. He's defeated. He's even lost out to Soundwave. I guess... I feel sorry for him."

"Because starting a relationship with a Decepticon who tried to kill you and your mech out of pity is the healthiest way to kick a spark bond off," Jazz sarcastically quipped.

Shiftlock smirked out of the corner of her mouth, frowning slightly. "And who started a relationship with me, a Decepticon, out of pity?"

Okay so she had a point. "Hey, you weren't a Decepticon to start off with," he weakly countered, smiling sheepishly.

"And you weren't an Autobot until the Decepticons started the war," Shiftlock rejoinered. "Look, do you even know why he was so obsessed with getting you out of the picture?"

"I always assumed it's because he hated my guts for stealin' you away from him and out of the Decepticon ranks," Jazz said.

"He wanted you out of the picture because he wanted to form a trine with Megatron," Shiftlock said. "He and Soundwave had been competing for Megatron's attentions since the rebellion started in Kaon, and Megatron had strung them both along. I mean, Barricade would sass off to Megatron's face and Megatron didn't bat an optic shutter. If anyone else had tried that scrap they would have been snuffed in a nanoklik. Barricade thought that if he brought a good femme into the mix, he'd have a leg up on Soundwave. Package deal, good breeding stock - he was trying to make his courtship intentions a lot sweeter. Problem is, he really overestimated himself, and Megatron didn't think anyone outside of one of the _Thirteen_ was worthy of his affections. If he and Airachnid hadn't accidentally bonded, Megs would still be single."

Jazz listened and put the pieces together. Unrequited love plus frustration plus Barricade's short temper equals clarity.

He still didn't want to share a berth or Shiftlock with Barricade. Especially not after the threat that glitch had made on Jazz's daughter. He was discovering that when it came to his sparklings, he had a protective streak wider than the sonic canyons. "Be that as it may, I am **still** unconvinced he's worth talkin' to,_ let alone_ courtin'. Besides, Blaster's back."

"_Six deployers_, Jazz," Shiftlock countered.

"Barricade has two!" Jazz said in exasperation.

"Yes, but I _like_ Rumble and Frenzy," Shiftlock grinned. "Someone's gotta whip those two little punks into shape."

"You don't have to bond to their carrier to do that you know!" Jazz protested, feeling as if he was already losing the battle. Once Shiftlock set her mind on something she was iron willed about it and she'd find any possible means of making her goals a reality. He could see why Barricade would have wanted her to bond with Megatron. If she had given up her compassion and sold herself to the Decepticon cause - that was the stuff of his nightmares.

"All right," Shiftlock acquiesced, "I tell you what: I'm willing to reconsider Blaster if you will at least TRY to talk to Barricade with me. I'm even willing to try to handle all those deployers AND the sparklings."

Well, that was a change of pace ... and what was the harm in talking to a penned-up, broken-down Barricade? The Autobots had won, hadn't they? Maybe now he could finally sell Shiftlock on Blaster's considerable charms.

"All right, it's a deal," Jazz agreed. What could go wrong?


	6. War Wounds

*.*.*.*.*

**Chapter 6**

*.*.*.*.*

"Bulkhead quit stalling!" Ratchet groused at the larger green Wrecker. "All of you have to be tested now!"

Bulkhead shied away from the examination berth that had been set up in the hospital hangar of NEST, staring at it as if it were made of scraplets.

"Oh come on!" Knock Out groused. "Would you rather Shockwave or I perform the examination?"

"N-no!" Bulkhead protested uneasily. "It's just that ... Well ... it's too public in here and I-"

"Bulkhead what is wrong with you?" Miko snapped, hands on her hips, as she stared up at her Autobot partner. "You're a Wrecker, you're not afraid of anything!"

"Well this is different!" Bulkhead flailed, optics pleading with Miko for mercy, as if she could some how get him out of the testing.

No dice. The girl was unrelenting. "Bulk, just get up on the table." She pointed to Ratchet's berth.

The green Wrecker hung his head. "Yes, Miko," he muttered obediently under his vents.

Knock Out, who had joined Ratchet and Shockwave in the hospital facilities, raised an optic ridge. "Here I thought the humans were the pets. Maybe it's the other way around."

"Nobody is anyone's pet!" Miko retorted. "Besides, how many pets do _you_ know of that can beat Starscream to a pulp?"

"Defeating Starscream is not a particularly meritorious act," Shockwave responded.

"A what?" Miko asked, the vocabulary going over her head.

"He means that anyone can beat up Starscream," Knock Out smirked.

"Ouch," Miko muttered sheepishly. "You got me there."

"Don't get too cocky, Knock Out," Ratchet advised as Bulkhead eased himself onto the berth and laid back. "Skywatch is considering assigning us all human partners."

"What?!" Knock Out protested, dropping one of his tools. "But I don't _want_ a human partner! Do you have any idea what they leave on your seats? Hair and skin cells and oils and then there's the spontaneous bursts of human exhaust!" His optics narrowed and his voice turned into a raspy hiss. "It's like _Blot_ is driving you!"

"Don't forget the barf," Miko smugly added. "And trust me, you hold one of us too long? We do WORSE."

Knock Out cringed and drew himself back with an audible shudder. "Eeeugh!"

Bulkhead chuckled weakly at Knock Out's distress as Ratchet ran the scanning beam over the Wrecker's torso. "So... what's the verdict, Doc?"

Ratchet sighed. "Same as ever, Bulkhead, despite your exposure. No change."

The green Autobot seemed a little crestfallen. "Yeah. Kinda thought so."

Miko looked between Ratchet and Bulkhead, puzzled. "What do you mean 'exposure'? Bulk, is something wrong?" She immediately picked up on Bulk's distress.

"He's a dud," Knock Out said, picking up the tools he dropped. "A carrier that can't carry."

Bulkhead scowled at Knock Out, before getting up and off the berth, walking to the door. "I don't need this from a Con!" he growled.

"Dude!" Miko yelled at Knock Out. "What is _wrong_ with you?!"

"Miko's right. Your bedside manner leaves a _lot_ to be desired," Ratchet chastised, looking perturbed.

"Bulkhead, wait up!" Miko shouted, running after the heavily armored grounder as he left the hospital hangar.

Knock Out just sighed and rolled his optics. "HellOoo, _Decepticon_ here," he retorted dismissively. "Bedside manner tends to go out the window when you're working on mechs like Megatron." He thumbed at Shockwave. "Or him."

"I do not understand how my behavior would affect your performance as a medic," Shockwave stated.

"And that's why I don't have to worry about bedside manner," Knock Out replied to Ratchet.

Ratchet rolled his optics and muttered under his vents, putting away the scanning tool. "Well you're going to have to learn to be a little kinder. You're not just dealing with Decepticons anymore." He looked to the doorway. "NEEEEXT!" he yelled aloud.

...

Miko continued to run after Bulkhead as Airachinid and Soundwave passed them by the hospital doorway. It wasn't until she'd caught up with Bulk that she realized she'd just run past two high ranking Decepticons - and hadn't even paid them any mind. Either she was getting braver, or they just didn't seem like much of a threat anymore.

"Bulk!" she panted. "Will you *gasp* slow down *wheeze* for just a minute!"

He couldn't ignore her despite being angry. He stopped where he was, slumped forward, not turning around to face her.

Miko inhaled deeply, catching her breath, before looking back up at her partner. He hadn't been this sullen and angry since he thought Smokescreen was replacing him.

"Bulk," she said softly. "What's wrong? What did Knock Out mean when he said you're a 'dud'? You don't look like a dud to me." She placed a hand on his ankle, trying to console him.

"I'm a carrier," Bulkhead murmured morosely. "Like Soundwave, or Blackout. I'm supposed to be able to hold deployers and make protoforms but ... I can't anymore. You know how Bumblebee lost his voice? Well, at Thunderhead Pass, I took a direct hit to my docking bay. It's nothing but slag and scar tissue now."

"... I'm sorry," Miko said, grasping the situation.

"Don't worry about it," Bulkhead said, his emotions evening out. "Having you around is better than any deployer or sparkling."

Miko just smiled and hugged Bulkhead's ankle. "You're my **real** parent as far as I'm concerned," she said, looking up at the Autobot.

Bulk's spark melted and the smile came back to his face. "Thanks Miko. You mean the world to me, too."

"So, what'd the Doc say?" asked Wheeljack as he rotated his right shoulder, walking up to the two from the command center just beyond.

"Same as ever," Bulkhead sighed, leaning down to offer Miko his hand. She scrambled up into it as Bulkhead lifted her up and set her on his shoulder.

"Mmmn. I'm sorry," the other Wrecker replied, sounding truly regretful. He put his hand on Bulkhead's other shoulder. "You're always gonna be my partner, Bulk, even if you just end up a big fat useless torso with a head."

"Thanks, Jackie," Bulkhead replied. He raised an optic ridge and considered that mental image. "... I think."

Miko's face scrunched up in thought. "Waaait, if Bulkhead's a carrier and you're a mech, Wheeljack, and you two are _partners_, does that mean-"

"NO!" both of the Autobots said in unison, looking a bit horrified at the implied relationship.

"Man, what is it with this planet?" Wheeljack asked, shrugging his shoulders. "It's like you can't be friends or partners with someone unless there's fragging involved."

"Jackie's my best friend Miko, but we're not bonded. He's not really my type," Bulkhead explained.

"That's because _your_ type look like Strika," Wheeljack teased.

"Hey!" Bulkhead protested, flustered. "I can't help it if I like bigger femmes!"

Miko chuckled. "Sorry, guys, I'm still figuring all this out. They don't exactly teach Cybertronian society in high school, you know."

"Eh, it's all right kid," Wheeljack dismissed, demeanor relaxed and friendly as ever. "Now that the war's winding down, I guess you're gonna see more of it."

"Yeah," Miko agreed, her thought processes rolling around the concept of Autobots and Decepticons working together instead of apart. "So now that you don't need to wreck stuff anymore ... what are you gonna do?"

Bulkhead froze. He'd always been a soldier. He'd been SPARKED a soldier. There'd always been a war; he had no idea what to do with himself after it was over!

"Well," Wheeljacked lazily mused, "I was an engineer and inventor before I was a Wrecker. I guess I'll go back to doin' that. Someone's gotta try to bootstrap some tools and equipment that's the right size. Guess I'll be busy." He noticed Bulkhead's apparent BSOD. "Hey Bulk - I'm gonna need an assistant. Preferably one that can do some heavy lifting. Want the job?"

"Do I ever!" Bulkhead gasped. That solved his problem handily.

"Can I join in?" Miko asked.

"Sure, why not? If you can learn to use a tool as well as you fight, it's only gonna make my job easier," Wheeljack grinned.

"Awesome! Now I can build my own super-powered rocket pack and _fly_ to school!" Miko said eagerly.

Bulkhead vented and rubbed his face with his hand. "Hoooboy."

* * *

**Chapters on this are gonna vary in length; I'm just writing to the natural end of the chapter's scene. **

**Also, thank you TF Prime, for making "interfacing" a canon word for ... well, you know. X)**

**I apologize if this particular twist on Bulkhead offends any fans; to me, his fatherly concern for Miko in the show was kind of in line with carrier behavior. Being a non-functioning carrier really doesn't change anything about his personality or role as the show presents him - it just explains the gentle, parental side that seems to come out when it comes to the kids (particularly Miko).**

**Fun fact #1: Did you know that in Japan, Bulkhead is actually _Ironhide?_**

**Fun fact #2: Did you know that Ratchet was supposed to be a _girl_ in the original 1980's Transformers show, but Hasbro said they didn't want girl robots in a boy's cartoon show?**

**... I'll quit while I'm ahead, I'm starting to sound like Rewind with all this trivia!**


	7. Meanwhile, In Deep Space

*.*.*.*.*

**Chapter 7**

*.*.*.*.*

"So it is true after all," Deathsaurus said after reading the report received from his deep-cover agent Flipsides just moments before. "Megatron has surrendered to Optimus Prime. Morever, so have Shockwave, Soundwave and Starscream. The Decepticon Empire has effectively been beheaded, and all because of an accidental spark-bond."

The other Decepticons surrounding Deathsaurus in his opulent throne room reacted to the news audibly, if not visibly, noising disbelief, looking among one another, sharing shock, dismay, even anger at the veritable bombshell that had been dropped from their commander's lips.

"It was inevitable," Onslaught said, louder than the others, as he sat with the other four Combaticons in their reserved chairs in Deathsaurus' hall.

This brought a bemused smirk to Deathsaurus' lips. "And why would you say that, Onslaught? I would enjoy hearing your opinion on the matter."

There had been no love lost between this group of Combaticons, Megatron and Starscream. During Starscream's brief rule during the middle of the Great War, his lack of leadership and ham-handed arrogance had threatened the survival of their team, not to mention having them imprisoned for attempting to bring tactical sanity back to the Decepticon war effort. Megatron had eventually discarded them as well, allowing them to be cast adrift into space as Bruticus during the Nemesis-Ark siege in the Exodus. Many Decepticons had been left as flotsam that day - and even later on, in orbit of Junkion's remains - and all of them seethed with bitter hate for their former master. When Deathsaurus' fleet of ships had discovered them in following the trail of the Ark and Nemesis, the Decepticons who had been abandoned to die of exposure and starvation were all too happy to come into Deathsaurus' service. They had expected to sell themselves into slavery just to survive - but Deathsaurus had surprised them all with incredible generosity and even-handedness. It had forged a loyalty to him with the strength of carbon steel.

As if that had not been enough, Deathsaurus had offered them a life comparable to Cybertron in its golden age; there was wealth plundered from other worlds, rich energon resources, the culture and splendor of nobility within an empire at its peak, the opportunity to test themselves against warriors with powers that could make formidable foes like Megatron and Optimus Prime look like newborn minicons, and more femmes and carriers than any of them had seen since the war began.

In all technicality, Deathsaurus was not a Decepticon; he had chosen to accept the term when he had first encountered Megatron. Deathsaurus was ancient - sparked alongside such legendary greats as Nova Prime, Galvatron, Jihaxus and Dai Atlas - and he had fought in the war to liberate Cybertron from Quintesson rule. His hatred for the tentacled interlopers had been so great that he had set off into the spaceways aboard a Metrotitan to hunt down every last one of them, searching for their homeworld Quintessa, to deal a fatal blow to their species at their nest. In the process Deathsaurus had gathered wealth, territory, allies, technology and power, but he had never come across Quintessa in his travels. Beginning to feel homesickness, he reestablished contact with Cybertron, only to find it enmeshed in a civil war that was ravaging the planet so badly it would soon be unable to sustain life. Deathsaurus allowed himself to be 'conquered' by Megatron, faking outrage and intentionally (but not obviously) losing to the Gladiator, then swearing allegiance to the Decepticon cause and establishing himself within their ranking elite. His requested post as the head of Phase Seven was accepted but sneered at by Megatron, who called him nothing more than a glorified harem guard, and assured the ancient that his lack of ambition would prevent him from climbing high in the Decepticon ranks. Deathsaurus took the invective without so much as flicker of his EMF. The ancient beastformer made his ship into an Ark of its own, taking in Decepticon families and civilians, even extending sanctuaries to Neutrals. Decepticons whose sparkbonds were under a cycle old had come aboard his ship, leaving only the hardiest mechs and carriers to continue the war with full raging abandon, safe in the knowledge that their mates were far away from the battlefield.

It had been a calculated move. Megatron had seen Deathsaurus as weaker, unreliable, in comparison to Starscream, Shockwave, Overlord, or Tarn - because Deathsaurus had put the welfare of his bonded, Esmeral, above the Decepticon war effort. Nevertheless, Deathsaurus was a formidable fighter, and as such, he had occupied a rank just outside that of Megatron's inner circle.

A rank that was now left in command of all remaining Decepticon forces. If the war was over, then Phase Seven's commander held rank above all.

"Paranoia and self-aggrandizement," Onslaught deduced. "Megatron is strong, and he is smart, but he has always overestimated his capabilities. Few have ever fought him on the battlefield and won, which has only fed his egocentricity. Even his chosen name screams blind self-importance: He named himself for one of the Thirteen original Primes."

"Despite all this," the Combaticon commander continued, "there have been signs of lingering self-doubt, though extremely well hidden. He has never allowed anyone to get close to him, for fear that a bond would create an exploitable weakness. He expected all others to be strong enough to sacrifice their own bonds or spark-splits, but he never allowed such a demand to be placed on himself. I posit this is why the Nemesis erupted in such havoc and why the bond was so rapid. He denied the demands of biology too long, and is now as much a thrall to to the effects of bonding as he was to dark energon."

"It was initially a good idea," Slipstream added from her position with Lyzack and Leozack on the east side of the throne room. "After all, sparklings are a liability on the battlefield, as much as sparked femme or a sealed carrier. That's why we sent almost all of them here in the first place."

"Yeah, we only kept the bolt-busters like you around," Swindle quipped. "No distractions_ there_."

Slipstream hurled her engex goblet at Swindle and clocked him in the middle of his visor. "I stayed behind because I had bigger dreams than being someone's arm candy!"

Swindle oofed and fell out of his chair, rubbing his chipped and cracked visor. "Still a bolt-buster," he muttered lowly as he got back up.

Deathsaurus was unaffected by the display. He understood Slipstream's mercurial moods and tolerated them - to an extent. "I believe your observation is most likely accurate, Onslaught; hence we are left now without any to succeed Megatron, either among his inner circle or in the form of an heir. Even the Senators were wise enough to pass their positions through family lineage, from the Progenitors onwards."

He cast a glance to Sixshot. "Even if sometimes an heir does not follow in the footsteps of his father."

Sixshot merely looked away, arms folded, silently brooding.

"Megatron stated that all Decepticons can choose to follow him into surrender and rebuilding, or remain cast out. He has sided with the enemy, and they believe themselves a united force against all attackers," Deathsaurus stated. "Do any of you wish to follow Megatron into the arms of the Autobots?"

The Decepticons and Neutrals present in the throne room looked around, staring at each other here and there, waiting to see if anyone would break ranks. After a few moments of silent stares and questioning glances, it became obvious that Deathsaurus commanded more loyalty than Megatron among them.

"Very well. I will grant a merciful exit to those among us who wish to go and scrape among the organic barbarians and the tattered remains of those who savaged our homeworld, but those who leave will do so knowing that I will not show them any mercy in the future."

Deathsaurus rose from his throne, wings spreading faintly like the cape of a Caesar. "As the Great War has been declared complete, and Megatron has laid down his arms as he said he would, I announce the beginning of Phase Seven, on **my** terms. We will restore Cybertron, locate the lost colony worlds, and bring our people home under a new and glorious Imperium of Cybertronian exceptionalism in the universe. All who refuse to participate in the regeneration of Cybertron and the institution of Pax Cybertronia across the galaxy will be subjugated or destroyed. **I claim the mantle of Decepticon leadership as its Emperor.** _Do any wish to challenge me?_"

No one stepped up. No one felt they had the power to overthrow a Godmaster - not even the Phase Six elite among his surrounding court.

"So it is done," Deathsaurus announced.

He turned his attention to the jet black and midnight blue femme who sat at the side of his throne like an exotic pet. Of the same frame type as Soundwave, the slender, glossy, orange-lit female looked back him, the smoked glass of her facial visor displaying the neon outline impression of coyly angled optics and a sultry smile.

"Rise, Feint," the beast former commanded.

She slid from the dais and stood in front of the newly christened Emperor. "What does my Emperor command?" she asked.

"I am sending you as my herald to the remaining members of Phase Six and the Decepticon Justice Division. Sixshot will accompany you as backup. I believe that of all my warriors, you will be the most likely to persuade them." His optics went to Sixshot. "And if they should refuse my offer through Feint, Sixshot, you will destroy them."

The sixchanger nodded in assent.

"Once you have contacted them, I want you to go to Earth, and deliver a message from me to Megatron and Optimus Prime. I'm _certain_ they will want to hear it."

* * *

**Fun Fact #1: Sixshot has the unusual distinction of being a first Generation transformer whose bio lists him as having an Autobot _son, _Quickswitch. Likewise, Quickswitch is mentioned as having Sixshot as his father.**

**Fun Fact #2: In the conclusion of the Transformers Victory manga, the Autobots defeat Deathsaurus, who begs them not to destroy the Decepticon fortress. The Autobots are initially unconvinced, until Esmeral, Deathsaurus' wife, reveals that the Decepticons had been fighting to defend their _wives and children _(Yes, BABY DECEPTICONS. The mind boggles!) within the Fortress. This causes the Autobots to have a change of heart about destroying the Fortress, and leads to an actual peace accord and happy endings for all!**

**Fun Fact #3: In the Wings Universe, the Combaticons are tricked into working for Deathsaurus, who appeals to each of their personality flaws, all of which correspond to one of the seven deadly sins.**


	8. Knock Out Needs An Adult

**Notice: I've placed a poll on my profile concerning Slipstream's background as she appears in this story; I just couldn't decide for myself, because there's several interesting possibilities. Vote and help me make up my mind. :)**

* * *

*.*.*.*.*

**Chapter 8**

*.*.*.*.*

After the examinations were complete, Ratchet and Shockwave had gone to report to Prime and Megatron on the general results and condition of both sides. Knock Out was done. Just _done_. He hadn't gone through that many medical examinations in one time period since the Nemesis had been torn away from the Ark in the Exodus. He took his time along the concrete roads that wove between the different hangars that had been transformed into living quarters for the Cybertronians on base, not particularly looking forward to sharing space with Bumblebee, Moonracer and _especially_ Smokescreen. The little scraplet had left him in a _wall_ before.

"Excuse me."

It came from somewhere beneath him. He mentally groaned. _Primus don't let it be one of those organics. I don't have the patience right now._

Knock Out groaned and rolled his optics, "Oh what is it _now_?" he growled, looking down.

He found a human female in a white labcoat over a snappy black suit jacket and slacks looking back up at him. He raised an optic ridge, his grouchy demeanor melting into aloof, begrudging admiration. The cut of her suit, her choice of accessories, the absolutely perfectly groomed blonde hair pinned behind her head, small, stylish glasses - even the paintjob of her lips and fingernails were meticulous. At least _one_ of the humans seemed to care about their appearance.

"Knock Out, is it?" she asked in a crisp, professional tone sporting an English accent. "My name is Doctor Alexis Kensington, and I am commandeering you for a little while. Won't be long, I promise."

Knock Out's shoulders sagged in frustration as he looked up to the sky and rubbed his face. "Oh for Pit's sake!" he groused. "When's a bot supposed to get any peace around here?" He cast her a menacing glare, wanting to see if he could intimidate the good doctor into backing off and letting him recharge in peace. "I'm sorry but I didn't agree to take orders from the _hired help,_" he spat. "You'll have to catch me at a better time."

Kensington raised a single eyebrow.

"I don't believe you understand the situation here," she continued coolly. "I don't care if you're the size of the Eiffel Tower and brandishing more weapons than an aircraft carrier, you and all your associates are under _our_ command here, even your Prime. That means that when we tell you to jump, you ask us how high. Am I clear on this?"

Knock Out gaped as if he'd been slapped. He couldn't believe what he was hearing - she had a lot of bearings for something that small! His expression pulled into a frown. "I only take orders from Lord Megatron. Talk to him and set up an appointment at my earliest convenience," he retorted, turning away from Dr. Kensington and starting to walk away.

"Oh, so we're going to play it that way are we?" Dr. Kensington asked, reaching into her labcoat pocket. "I regret to inform you that I am entirely authorized to command you as I see fit, _vehicle._"

Knock Out froze in place at the epithet the human had hurled at him, his EMF bristling with anger. How he wished he could just smash her - but that would have repercussions even he didn't want to think about. He whirled around and leaned down to get into the woman's smaller face, trying his best to be intimidating (though it hadn't appeared to work so far). "Here's a **hint**, _fleshie_ - I could crush you faster than you have time to _blink_, so insulting me is a _pretty bad idea_."

Alexis remained unmoved. "I think it's time you were brought to heel, Knock Out," she stated, removing a small round metal device and slapping it onto the red Decepticon's shoulder.

Instantly Knock Out found himself transforming against his will, leaving Dr. Kensington standing next to a well-detailed Aston Martin. Knock Out's voice cried out in shock from within the vehicle. "What in the-?! I can't - I can't move! _Hnnng_!" He strained to try to transform or drive away, but to no avail. The lights were on, but the body was unresponsive. _"What did you do to me?!"_

"It's a little device we whipped up to keep you from getting out of hand," Dr. Kensington replied. "You don't think we were just going to sit on our hands and tremble while you did whatever you pleased to us and our world, did you?" She went to Knock Out's driver side and opened his door.

"Wait - are you _getting into me_?" he gasped. "What do you think you're doing, human?! Keep your organic contamination to yourself!"

"Oh you like to look down on us for the functions of our bodies, do you?" Alexis mused with an smirk. "Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, poppet, but you're hardly the epitome of 'green' yourself. Have you smelled your exhaust lately? We could name a hole in the ozone layer after you and your carbon emissions alone. And then there's the dirt you track with your tires, the oozing, half-congealed motor oil around your engine - and from where I'm at, I can see every chip, crack and bubble in your paint job - you know, the ones you miss because you're just too slopping _huge_ to see them." She sat down in the drivers seat and made sure to scoot her rear into the most comfortable position she could manage to continue the humiliation.

Knock Out was speechless. He had never been dressed down so acutely, and certainly not where it hurt; his vanity was punctured like a carnival balloon. He didn't even notice when the female human closed the door and put her feet to his pedals.

"Oh, that reminds me. You're one of the Decepticons that was part of this 'Great War' of yours from the start, weren't you? I understand you Cybertronians live a good long while, but even _your_ species appears to have an aging process. Your Blue Book value isn't what it used to be, is it dear? Especially with those younger, faster models out driving you these days," Alexis added, twisting the verbal knife into the Decepticon's already wounded pride.

"I am NOT outdated!" Knock Out protested, his voice cracking an octave higher in electromagnetic apoplexy, but it was too late; Alexis put her hands to his wheel, put her foot on the gas and began to drive him against his will. "What are you doing?! STOP IT!" he shrieked, now feeling genuine terror. Never _once_ had been unable to control his body, or given such a vicious psychological working over. His protests were to no avail; Dr. Kensington continued to drive him past the housing hangars, towards another smaller complex just beyond.

...

Knock Out was soon parked inside a building that had been modified into one enormous clean room. Sheets of protective, semi-translucent plastic were hung from the ceiling, dividing the room into square sections big enough to house a vehicle. Ominous computer diagnostic equipment and stainless steel carts filled with large tools were nearby.

Alexis stepped out and shut the door. Knock Out still couldn't move, and he was beginning to panic; the buildings, like the rest on the base, were electromagnetically shielded. It was intended to protect the Cybertronians from being scanned by Earth (or aggressive extraterrestrial) forces, but it had the side effect of rendering a Cybertronian unable to call for help.

Knock Out believed that was an **intended** side effect.

"I thought we had a deal!" Knock Out protested, engine revving in futility as he tried to transform over and over, his t-cog still not responding. "We surrender and you don't take us apart!" Breakdown's description of his treatment at the hands of MECH flashed through his processes, making his engine hitch a few times in panic.

"Oh don't get off your chump," Kensington sighed, frowning. "I'm not taking you apart." She walked over to the diagnostic computer, and slipped off her labcoat, laying it on the tool cart nearby.

"Then why did you do this to me?!" Knock Out demanded.

"Because you were being an uncooperative tosser," Alexis casually retorted, now taking off her jacket. "I wanted to speak to you in specific because you are a medic, Knock Out, and I've been assigned the task of learning the equivalent of Cybertronian first-aid. Should something happen to you, the ambulance or the one-eyed purple monstrosity, we would have no way of effectively treating any of your injuries in a combat situation."

Knock Out's sideview mirror tilted, catching a reflection of Alexis's back. "W-well, you could have just said that from the start!" he protested weakly. He paused, watching her slip off her suit jacket and undo her hair.

"... What are you doing?" he asked cautiously, wondering exactly what he was witnessing.

"Again, you were being uncooperative and borderline belligerent. I was within my rights to neutralize you for being so aggressive," Alexis said, picking up a pair of unusual looking glasses, exchanging them for her own. Beneath the suit jacket she was wearing some sort of dermal armoring in a metallic slate blue, circuit patterns glittering along the contours of her body. "As for what I'm doing?" she said, reaching to the front of her pants and apparently unfastening them. "I'm getting changed."

"I thought you humans had modesty about that sort of thing!" he pointed out, shocked.

"It's appropriate to change clothing in a garage," Kensington quipped, letting her pants fall to the floor, revealing the rest of the suit. "Or inside a car."

Knock Out spluttered in horror. "You're unbelievable!"

Alexis slipped on a pair of matching gloves. "Oh you have no idea," she said, turning around with a smile. Working with a set of linkage points in the suit, she finished sealing the armor; a control system on the front of the suit lit up, and suddenly she was emitting her own EMF.

"So what's with the get-up?" the Decepticon asked, curiosity overcoming the rapid mental upheavals he was experiencing more frequently than he'd have liked.

"This suit allows me to see your electromagnetic field, as well as interact with it on a similar level," Alexis explained. "We understand that you communicate on levels we do not; I would like, with your help, to begin to learn how to bridge that communication gap."

Knock Out wasn't sure he liked this idea. It was a method of communication that allowed them to speak without the humans knowing. He pondered intentionally teaching her the wrong things on purpose, but that would eventually come back to bite him in the bumper. Nuts and bolts! This was enduring being shaken down like a low-caste slave again or suffer destruction later! Some Utopian ceasefire this had turned out to be!

"Fine," he begrudgingly agreed. "Can I _please_ come out of my alt-mode?"

"Not until we're done with our first lesson. I have no reason to believe that you won't just stomp out of here before I can complete my work," Alexis chided, walking towards the Aston Martin.

She was good, he had to admit; she had managed to corner him like nothing, capture him easily, and force him to agree to her demands. There was only one option left in his bag of tricks: Turn on the charm.

"You'd have made a good Decepticon," Knock Out commented. It was easy to say, because he at least partially meant it.

"I'll accept that as a compliment, even if you didn't mean it to be," the Doctor said, adjusting one of her gloves. "Now, tell me how this feels."

Alexis placed her hand on the Knock Out's hood. Electricity danced in tiny glimmering rivulets between her hand and the surface of the car.

"GAH!" Knock Out blurted out. "PAIN!"

She quickly withdrew her hand, and turned, picking up nearby pen and making a note on her clipboard. "My apologies. Had to start on some end of the spectrum."

Knock Out grumbled in response.

Recalibrating the suit, Alexis tried again. This elicited a noise somewhere between a groan and grunt. "Itchy!" the Aston Marton complained. Making yet another note, she again changed the frequency length.

"And now?" she calmly asked.

Knock Out giggled.

"Ticklish," she wrote down.

There was another adjustment and Alexis merely traced a finger over the seam of Knock Out's hood, taking care in case she provoked another strong and unpleasant reaction.

It was anything but.

Knock Out's engine revved a little harder, but he kept his vocoder silent, not wanting to admit what _that_ felt like. Oh ho ho **no**. **Not** to the human. Unfortunately for him, he was dealing with a scientist, and as he had learned from observing and working with Shockwave, scientists tended to be very persistent about getting to the bottom of things, even if their research subjects weren't forthcoming with the truth. Dr. Kensington looked at Knock Out with interest, and this time, rubbed her hand firmly against the hood seam, up and down, once more.

He couldn't help himself. He moaned aloud, and was immediately embarrassed.

"Something wrong?" she teased softly. "I'm not sure I know what that meant. Was it bad or good?"

"Nothing!" Knock Out blurted out. "Just a glitch in my circuits, let's move on, shall we?"

"Oh I don't think so, not until you tell me exactly what that was," Alexis protested with a devilish smile. Her goggles were displaying a fluctuation in his field; there were certain spots on his frame that seemed to be more brightly lit and responsive to the touch of the suit than others. She slipped a hand under the rim of his front wheel well, rubbing the interior of the metal.

A startled, trembling groan resonated from somewhere in the car's engine. "S-stop doing that!" the Decepticon weakly complained.

"Not until you tell me what you're feeling," Alexis murmured, thoroughly enjoying having the Decepticon by the bearings, in a manner of speaking. She intentionally stroked him in places within her reach where his field seemed brightest. She watched and recorded the rapid shifting and harmonic resonance of the field for later study.

Knock Out's pride refused to let him answer. He wasn't about to admit that a _human_ of all things was making him feel, well... _especially nice_. He tried to hold himself back, not say anything, think of an excuse, but his processes were getting a bit foggy. He noised further content.

"Hmm, now I 'm not entirely sure I understood that, could you be more precise about the sensations you're experiencing?" Alexis said with maddening calm and a devious smile. Oh, she knew _very well_ what she was doing to him now, but she wasn't content to simply let him dance around a confession. She was firmly convinced that the best way to handle this particular troublemaker was to utterly, completely break him, just like a wild horse. She walked around to the front of his hood, and began working other more brightly lit spots in his field.

Knock Out was mentally squirming for all he was worth. The wretched creature had him pinned down and was toying with him like a turbofox with a cybermouse. She really WAS going to force him to come out and say it, wasn't she? He struggled with admitting it, she was so far beneath him on the evolutionary ladder, all soft and pink and full of bright red fluid; he owed her nothing but his contempt, especially with how she'd ground a verbal cigarette into his ego - but she was also a fast learner, and his resistance was rapidly failing. He gave in, trying to salvage his dignity.

"Pleasure!" he gasped. "It's pleasure!"

Alexis let him go, returning to her clipboard. "Thank you for your cooperation," she blithely responded, writing down the results. "I think that's enough for now."

Reaching to the section of his hood where the nullifier was attached, she pressed the release button. The device shut down, magnetic lock dissipating. Knock Out immediately transformed back into root mode. His vents were flared open, trying to eliminate excess heat, his crimson optics locked on the blonde human female that now felt her primitive datapad was more important than the twenty foot robot standing next to her. His spark throbbed, humming against its frame, excited just enough to make him uncomfortable.

He didn't know what to make of what had just happened. He didn't know how to feel; her small, minicon-sized frame was illuminated with a field still set to a frequency that, when brushed up against his, registered an invitation to interface. Part of him wanted to respond to it, if only for relief; the other part wanted to drive as quickly away from her as possible and purge his tanks. He repeated a mantra in his processes to keep himself steady: _She's human, she's beneath us. She's human, she's beneath us. She's human, she's beneath us..._

An icy bucket of cold realization washed over him, calming his spark. The humans could render them utterly helpless with that device she had used, and worse yet, they were attempting to unlock the secrets of their very sensory systems. The words of CYLAS came back to haunt him in that moment. Maybe there really WAS a human factor they should have explored.

"Why me?" he suddenly asked, trying to regain his grasp on reality as he formerly knew it. "Why didn't you ask Ratchet or Shockwave?"

"Well," Kensington said, looking up and over her shoulder at him. "I suppose I'm somewhat biased. I've always been a bit of a car girl, and you have excellent tastes in vehicle form - not to mention that you are, despite me having given you the stick, attractive, for a robot. You look close enough to a human, I suppose, to have desirable qualities and _oh_ your field is **really** lighting up right now," she grinned.

Knock Out transformed once more and his tires screamed against the concrete, leaving black tracks across the floor as he tore through the protective plastic barriers and out of the hangar, EMF wild with tumultuous, conflicted emotion.

He didn't recharge the whole night.


	9. Difference of Opinion

*.*.*.*.*

**Chapter 9**

*.*.*.*.*

Megatron moved the pawn across the board, and waited on Optimus Prime's move.

The chess set they were using was originally intended to be part of a set of oversized lawn ornaments, each piece roughly three and a half to four feet tall. The board had been rapidly constructed from colorful duct tape against the concrete floor, white spaces left open, black spaces "colored" with a set of double Xs in tape within the confines of the square. After having the rules explained, the two leaders had picked up the the game quickly, and had been busy challenging each other's strategies when they weren't directing their respective subordinates or working with EDF and Skywatch officials. It was a welcome respite for Megatron, who waited uneasily for the results of the medical examinations of Airachnid and Soundwave. Potential fatherhood loomed over him like gathering storm clouds.

"It's like _pokemon_," Captain Fairborne complained a short distance away. "Every soldier on this base wants a Vehicon to train with, while apparently only the kids are worthy of the "legendaries"."

Optimus Prime had no idea what Pokemon was, but he understood the gist of what Captain Fairborne was saying. "I am happy to see that the Vehicons and the Earth Defense Forces are working together. As for the circumstances surrounding Jack, Miko and Rafael being partnered with Arcee, Bulkhead and Bumblebee, it was merely a matter of chance."

"I know," Fairborne replied, putting her feet up on the desk sitting out in the middle of the floor of the command center, on the human side of the building. Computer technicians were clustered just behind, equipment strewn across tables and set up makeshift in the middle of the still developing NEST HQ, compiling information and keeping watch over Earth's satellite networks, searching for other Cybertronians who might be refugees elsewhere.

"I never understood why you did not just eliminate the humans that saw you, Prime," Megatron mused, watching Optimus move a knight in front of the pawns on his side. "You would not have had your strength compromised as many times as you did."

"They may have needed protection at first, but their strength allowed us to claim victory more than once," Optimus calmly replied.

"They have proven to be surprising in the end," Megatron somberly agreed.

"If you don't mind me asking," Fairborne interjected, looking at Megatron, "What exactly would you have done with us if you'd won?"

Megatron was a little surprised that the human would ask. "Are you certain you wish to know?"

"I'm a big girl. I think I can handle it," Fairborne countered.

"More than likely we would have reduced your population to more controllable levels, since, as a species, you cannot bring yourselves to limit your numbers, though some of your nations admirably have done so," Megatron began. "If you had any worth as a servant race, we would keep enough of you to be useful. Once you had outlived your usefulness, or had become problematic, we would have exterminated you."

"That's pretty much what we thought," Fairborne replied, unmoved.

The gladiator allowed himself faint admiration for the human's stoicism, expressing it with a fraction of a smile.

"Megatron?" Ratchet's voice came from the entrance to the hall. The results were in.

Unable to concentrate on the game any further, the Decepticon leader stood up and turned to look at the Autobot medic.

The expression on Ratchet's face gave it away. "The tests came back positive. If all goes well with Airachnid, and Soundwave's generation continues soundly, you'll be a father."

...

"If you're going to go talk to Barricade, I'd better come with you," Prowl said to Jazz and Shiftlock. "He's calm enough right now, but I'm uncertain how he'll react to the both of you, considering your history."

"Y'know, that's not makin' me want to do this _more,_" Jazz confessed to Shiftlock.

Thinking about it for a moment, Shiftlock made an alternative suggestion. "How about just Prowl and I go talk to him right now? I mean, if he's just going to blow a head gasket seeing you, then yeah, you're right, and it's not gonna work."

"I dunno," Jazz responded, wary. "I'm still concerned he's gonna up and do somethin' stupid."

"He's sharing quarters with Ironhide, Bulkhead and Chromia, and he's mid-generation," Prowl stated. "His chances of causing trouble are slim to none."

"Ironhide, Bulkhead _and_ Chromia? He is well and truly fragged," Jazz grinned. He patted Shiftlock on the shoulder. "Ball's in your court then. I'm gonna check in with Prime for the new patrol schedules and then get back to the kids. You might be awhile."

"Hopefully not too long. I'll catch up with you soon," Shiftlock replied, parting ways with Jazz after an affectionate hug.

Prowl walked alongside Shiftlock, following the roadways to the hangar-quarters set up for Autobots and Decepticons in a grid pattern. "I'm not certain whether I should commend you or dress you down," he said.

Typical Prowl, Shiftlock thought. "About trying to make amends with Barricade?" she asked, seeking clarification.

"About several things," Prowl replied. "I know some Autobots would be inclined to call you heroic: risking yourself to save the others, fighting on through the Great War despite your condition, becoming a Wrecker, trying to resolve things with Barricade-"

"But you don't agree with them," Shiftlock smirked interrupting with what she knew was coming.

Prowl's expression remained neutral. "No, I don't. Your life is, in my estimation, blind luck overcoming a succession of bad choices."

"Blind luck's the only thing that's ever been on my side, apart from Jazz," Shiftlock said sourly.

"I wouldn't necessarily say that," Prowl added. "You have considerable skill, you've never lost your ability to see the potential for good in others, and shoulder responsibility and duty that would have ground down others long ago."

"And your point is?" Shiftlock asked.

Prowl stopped and turned to face Shiftlock. "I'm a tactician, Shiftlock. I study every angle of every interaction between soldiers on and off the battlefield. I spent a good portion of the war calculating the best strategies and how to end the war quickly - and that's given me some insight into how things might play out with everyone here. I know exactly how things are going to go down the moment you walk through those hangar doors. He'll have some emotional outburst - chances are best that it will be despondent grief - and you will fold like a house of cards and go crawling back to him. It won't matter to you what Jazz thinks, because you will _believe you're in the right_ and you will dutifully accept misery as your reward, only it won't be just you that will be miserable; it will be Jazz and your sparklings."

"You can't change the past, and you can't hold yourself responsible for other people's pain. _You did not kill the Empties, Shiftlock. Megatron did._ I'm sure we all have survivor's guilt to some degree now, but you can't save everyone. You can't prevent others from getting hurt by taking it all on yourself."

"Why not?" Shiftlock countered calmly. "Prime does it all the time."

"Last time I checked, Shiftlock, you were not holding the Matrix of Leadership," Prowl retorted back.

"I don't need it to endure. _We're not at war anymore, Prowl._ I don't know if that's sunk in yet, but it's time to stop assessing people for the war effort. I understand that we may have other forces showing up sometime soon, but right now, we need to rebuild nine million years of burned bridges with the Decepticons to put up a unified front. You say I'm running headlong into a mistake? _You won't even let people make mistakes_._ You can't prevent others from getting hurt by keeping them inside a forcefield_."

Shiftlock looked back towards the hangar doors. "There's a living, breathing Cybertronian in there who is hurting worse than he's probably ever hurt before. I want to a least _try_ to help him find a better way to live than lying, killing and destroying. I want to show him that mercy and compassion are something only the truly strong possess." She gave the white and black Autobot standing next to her a hopeful smile. "You said blind luck seems to cover my bad decisions. Why change what works?"

Prowl seemed to sigh heavily through his vents, folding his arms across his torso. "I'm not changing your mind, am I?"

"Not this time, Prowl. You've given me something to think about, I'll say that for you, so I'll try to be more cautious and less impulsive - but I have to try," Shiftlock gently apologized.

"You may not have the Matrix of Leadership, but there are times when you are as aggravatingly self-sacrificial as Prime," Prowl declared, accepting the fembot's decision.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Shiftlock grinned.

* * *

**Fun Fact #1: While many fans suspected a connection, it wasn't until recently that Hasbro confirmed that the character Marissa Fairborne is actually the daughter of two GI Joes - Flint and Lady Jaye!**

**Fun Fact #2: Prowl tends to be a math-loving, rules-hugging stuffed shirt, but when IDW's Nick Roche temporarily turned him into an amoral schemer who was willing to do ethically dodgy things "for the greater good", there was such an outcry of fans to _keep_ Prowl this way that they made the change permanent! (Expect Prowl in my series to be capable of 'breaking a few eggs' to make 'tactically necessary' omelettes...).**

**POLL: Please check my profile and vote on Slipstream's potential origins and relationship to Starscream. I'd like to see what my readers want for her. :)**


	10. Matchmaker

*.*.*.*.*

**Chapter 10**

*.*.*.*.*

Barricade was sitting in the far right corner of the hangar, hands on his knees, facing the corner. His EMF was retracted and gloomy, flattened to try to hide his feelings from anyone who might have come into the hangar.

Shiftlock went inside. Prowl stood waiting at the doorway, keeping an optic on things just in case he was needed. He'd never admit to it, but he was curious to see how the situation would play out. He had calculated so many possibilities, but over the course of the war, he'd found that sometimes things just didn't turn out how probability suggested they would.

That in itself was a study in probability mechanics: The chance of chances. He'd have to bring up the theory with Perceptor sometime.

Shiftlock felt Barricade's EMF go rock hard and resistant at her approach. He knew it was her before she even sat down next to him, and he was already bitter and defensive. Not the best way to start off what was supposed to be a possible courtship offer.

She didn't exactly know what to say to him. She simply sat nearby, looking at the wall, her field brushing up against his with amplitudes of warm concern.

Barricade relaxed, if only for a little, resigning himself to be bothered by someone he wasn't sure he wanted to see again. His field expanded, _weary-why are you here__?_, and he decided that the onus of starting conversation was on her. He admitted to himself that he was a little surprised she'd approached him, considering everything that had happened between them.

Shift took it slow and simple. "You doing alright? Getting enough energon, enough time to recharge?"

It was a start. "I'm fine," Barricade grunted noncommittally. Never one for patience, he hastily growled, "Why the scrap are you here? Come to see me while I'm weak and beaten? You like that?"

She could feel the old wound opening up and spilling infection at her. His nerves were raw, and like a wounded beast, he was ready to lash out at her. She mentally armored herself, bracing for the impact of his emotional pain. "No," she answered calmly. "I came to see you because I still care about what happens to you."

She felt his EMF flicker in shock. His red optics opened a little wider, turning to look at Shiftlock, trying to confirm what she'd just said, as if he thought his audioceptors had errored out. His engine skipped a revolution.

Memories flooded back as their fields skittered against each other. It took every ounce of self-control Shiftlock had to not simply respond to the unspoken urges screaming between them. Prowl's clinical assessment of the situation's outcome engendered a perverse desire to prove the tactician wrong out of spite, and it gave her much-needed self control. Coming without Jazz was probably a bad idea; she could have used her mech's emotional distance from the situation to keep her grounded. In hindsight, consoling an old flame was like walking into the jaws of an aligaticon.

"I've always cared what happened to you, Barricade," Shiftlock confessed quietly. "I'm not going to say what we had in the past was perfect, but we had something, at least, for a little while."

"Until Jazz ruined it," Barricade muttered.

"Until _you_ ruined it," Shiftlock corrected, brows drawing together. That took some of the charm out of the moment. "I might not have ever gone back if it hadn't been for what you let Megatron push you into. You helped slaughter all my friends, all those who helped me and looked out for me and you expected me not to care, and I'll tell you why: Because you wanted Megatron more than you ever wanted _me_. I was just a stepping stone to your goals."

Barricade's field pulled back like he'd been slapped. His expression hardened.

"Don't give me that look," Shiftlock said firmly but evenly. "You know it's the truth even if you don't want to say it. You wanted to prove your loyalty and make yourself indispensable to Megatron, but it was already apparent that Soundwave was Megatron's right hand and obvious choice, and you know why? _Fliers stick with fliers_, Barricade. Grounders stick with grounders. Half the reason the war was so bitter is because both sides were coming from different functions, different alt-modes, different cultures. You know how the Seekers used to sneer at us - you, me, Knock Out - all because we had wheels instead of wings. You were chasing your own tail lights from the start."

The saleen's clawed hand curled into a fist. He smashed it against the floor, crunching the concrete beneath.

"That?" Shiftlock pointed out immediately, "That right there is the other reason you ruined it."

Barricade just glared at Shiftlock and looked away. His field was ragged with mixed emotion. His plates lifted.

"I'm not saying these things to be an aft, 'Cade. We've been in each other's sparks. We **know** each other," Shiftlock sighed. She nudged her field up against him again, attempting to sooth and console the angry carrier. "You're strong. Strong enough that it scares you, deep down. When you feel something, you feel it fifty times harder than anyone else, and it feels like your whole world is out of control. Megatron looked good because he could keep you in your place, but he wouldn't have been good _for _you."

The saleen let go emotionally and slumped where he sat, venting out engine heat. Shiftlock was saying what he'd always known but hadn't been able to accept, at least until now, when Megatron was out of his reach and he had no one left to console him.

Shiftlock sat forward, knees drawn up, arms folded and resting over them. "I didn't come here to bust your chops, 'Cade. I came here because Jazz is willing to consider you as our third."

"... what?" the saleen asked in disbelief.

"I can't say Jazz is just super, super eager to have you on board but he's willing to think about it happening. I guess it's mostly me making the offer," Shiftlock confessed with some embarrassment.

"Heh." Barricade smiled, just a little. "Not that I wouldn't want to try to start over again with you, but ... I can't accept that offer. Jazz and I don't mix, Shiftie. You said it yourself, that I need someone who can help me control my own strength. Jazz isn't strong enough to do that - and you know it."

Disappointment settled down on the both of them like a gentle rain. "Yeah," Shiftlock said softly. "I guess I do."

Barricade slid his hand over to Shiftlock. Noticing, she slipped one of her arms free and took the offered servo in her own.

"Guess this is where it ends for us, huh?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah. Sometimes we just don't get what we want," Barricade responded.

...

Prowl allowed himself a faint smile at how the situation had resolved itself. This had been the result he'd been aiming for, really; he'd chosen his words to Shiftlock carefully. He knew the Autobots within the ranks like the back of his hand, read every battle report, read every psychological briefing Rung had sent to him. Shiftlock was perverse enough to try her hardest to do the opposite of what anyone in authority told her to do - which mean that she would go so far as to deny herself what she wanted just to rub it in some smug prick's face.

A smug prick like himself, for example.

He knew that Barricade's carrier nature would take over and he'd be willing, at last, to hitch himself to a mech or a femme with enough strength and combat prowess to keep him in place, and that was precisely why he had arranged for Barricade to stay in mixed quarters with Ironhide and Chromia. It was no secret that the two Autobots had been bonded and just _waiting_ to have sparklings since long before the war began, and their combined, formidable strength would be enough to whip Barricade into line and into loyalty in a heartbeat.

Megatron and Prime had only agreed to the living arrangements. Prowl had been the one to position the various Decepticons and Autobots together in close quarters, knowing that EMF proximity alone would start to cause new relationships to take shape.

Peace was only going to come if Autobots and Decepticons began to forge emotional bonds that they would dare not risk breaking with continued conflict. Prowl had not forgotten that trouble would come looking for all of them soon, either in the form of humanity collectively turning on them, the remnants of the Decepticon's loose canons still in space, or the Star Seekers. It was up to Prowl yet again to put his mental gifts to work, this time engaging in a different, subtle kind of warfare, moving both Autobot and Decepticon into each others' arms without them being aware of any kind of manipulation at all. For all his planning, all the ways he was asked to win the war, he had largely been ignored, because he did not have the charisma of Prime or Bumblebee or Springer - and he had had enough of it. The threats coming to earth were too big to simply let Prime and Megatron continue their overly grandiose interpersonal drama. The pulp fiction melodrama between the two leaders and and their subordinates had resulted in the destruction of the Omega Lock. That had been the final straw for Prowl. He couldn't allow the direction of the impending crisis he saw coming to rest in either of their hands any longer.

For the time being, Prowl contented himself with his success as a matchmaker.

Probability told him that everything would turn out as he planned.

* * *

**Fun Fact #1: Prowl died in the original Transformers animated movie, but later showed up alive and well in the Japanese Transformers: Headmasters cartoon that followed after the G1 series. The Japanese producers of the Headmaster show still hadn't seen the American movie, and were not aware that Prowl had died! Oops.**

**Fun Fact #2: Barricade started out as a Micromaster - a character about the size of Rumble and Frenzy - and was leader of the Decepticon Race Track Patrol squad. The character was later picked up and adapted to the live-action movie, going from a race care to a police car, and portrayed as being as big as any other Transformer. Someone spent some time eating their Wheaties...**

**Author's Note: I have been asked 'why thirteen genders?', and I feel this is a pretty valid question. I'll try to answer as succinctly as possible.**

**Firstly, Ratchet in previous chapters assumes that human gender is based mainly on having different looking bodies (which is partially right). Transformers in the Aligned universe have around Thirteen different frame-types (carriers, femmes, combiners, shifters, beastformers, minicons, etc), each corresponding to one of the Thirteen original Primes. All those different frame-types descended from the original Thirteen, according to canon. Reproductively speaking, in my take on TFs is closer to between three to five actual genders, with the different frame-types procreating in different ways. Some of this is just a continuity nod to all the different ways Transformers have been hinted at or stated to reproduce in the different series over time; some of it is based on my original ideas (such as the mech-femme-carrier trines), and other ways are just a nod to the stuff established in the fandom.**


End file.
